


Avenger

by ineswrites



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Angst, M/M, Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-06
Updated: 2017-07-06
Packaged: 2018-11-28 12:38:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 945
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11418153
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ineswrites/pseuds/ineswrites
Summary: Jack shoves him under the shower, lukewarm water drips down his head, his face, gets into his eyes, stinging. He wipes them, but his hands are equally wet and it doesn’t do him any good.Jack’s naked in Brock’s face, hands rubbing soap into his waxy skin. “Do I have to micromanage everything?”Brock turns his head away, stares at the tiled wall through the haze in his eyes. “I don’t think I can do this anymore.”





	Avenger

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Русский available: [Мститель](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11432904) by [Saysly](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Saysly/pseuds/Saysly)



> I wanted to hurt myself. This is the result.

Brock stumbles into the tiny bathroom. His uncooperative legs give out and he lands on the hard floor. The green tiles are dirty and cracked.

He can’t get up. He’s not as strong as he used to. He’s tired. Painkillers are wearing off.

That’s how Jack finds him, sprawled on the floor, panting, with scarred cheek pressed to a cool tile. He stands in the doorway, arms crossed, regarding him coldly.

“Jesus, Brock. Pull yourself together,” he says in a dry voice. His white button up is bright enough to hurt Brock’s eyes.

Brock tries to move, fails. Jack sighs and crouches beside him, pulls him up to a sitting position. He smells so sweet.

He takes the brown envelope Brock dropped, pulls out cash, counts the bills quickly. “Enough to reinforce the armor.”

Brock stares helplessly as Jack unfastens his chest plate and helps him take his shirt off. He grabs him by the arms, and though his grip is firm, his big hands digging into Brock’s scar tissue, he can’t feel anything but pressure as he’s pulled to his feet.

“Are you kidding me?” Jack asks as Brock leans on him for support. Jack’s stubble scratches his neck. “You just went out on a job. Not a marathon. Stand the fuck up.”

Brock leans against the wall as Jack crouches down again to untie his boots. He doesn’t say anything; his throat is dry, and it’s hard to get his voice out. He doesn’t like listening to it, just like he doesn’t like looking in the mirror.

There isn’t a mirror in the bathroom.

Brock forces his hands to unbutton his pants, pulls them down along with his underwear, forces his stiffened legs to step out of them. Jack shoves him under the shower, lukewarm water drips down his head, his face, gets into his eyes, stinging. He wipes them, but his hands are equally wet and it doesn’t do him any good.

Jack watches him with his lip curled. “Like a goddamn baby,” he taunts.

He’s naked in Brock’s face, hands rubbing soap into his waxy skin. “Do I have to micromanage everything?”

His body is so warm, warmer than the water. Brock can’t help but press into him.

_Please, hold me,_ he doesn’t say. Jack won’t.

Jack shoves him up the wall, so cold and hard it hurts. “Look at you. Pathetic.”

Brock turns his head away, stares at the tiled wall through the haze in his eyes. “I don’t think I can do this anymore.”

Jack pulls wet strands of his hair back, washes it with shampoo. “The fuck you can’t. You have one job, that too much for you? Where’s the badass motherfucker I fell for, huh? Where is Brock Rumlow? Is he in there somewhere? Because all I see is a wimp who can’t even take a shower on his own. You’re dead without me.”

The water stops. Jack pulls him out of the shower, dries him off.

“Work with me. Come on. Show me I’m not just wasting my time here.”

Brock wraps the towel around his waist. No point in getting dressed – no one can see him here, and the fabric of his clothes would just irritate his skin. He walks to the kitchen on his own, so Jack will be proud of him.

No, Jack won’t be proud of him for _walking_. But maybe he’ll shut up at least.

“Food,” Jack says as Brock washes down his pills. He’s running out of them. He doesn’t know how to get more. “You wanna get fucked tonight? Want my cock? Food first, cock later.”

Brock opens the little fridge. There’s not much in there. Some cheese. Leftover pizza. He takes a slice, chews on it. It tastes like ashes. Everything tastes like ashes. His stomach protests, but he ignores it, swallows. He needs nutrition.

He finishes the slice and starts towards the bedroom, but is stopped by Jack’s muscular arm.

“More,” he says.

Brock shakes his head. He doesn’t disobey Jack often, but this time he can’t help it. “Can’t. Not today. Don’t make me.”

“No wonder you’re weak.” But Jack lets him go.

Brock doesn’t own an actual bed, just a mattress. He lies down, the blanket scratchy against his skin. His head is swimming. He wants to close his tired eyes, but he doesn’t want to stop seeing Jack. Jack’s right beside him, smelling even sweeter, his black shirt oddly soothing. Brock looks into his pale green eyes, catches a strand of dark hair between his numb fingers.

“Just let me die,” he begs, and he hates how his voice is strangled, how weak he is, how he’s failing Jack. But he’s just so tired. Living is so painful. The pieces of his armor are coming together too slowly, there’s still so many things he needs to do. It just doesn’t seem to end.

“Not yet.” Jack’s voice is lower, gentler. “You’re doing so well. You need to hang in there just a little longer. You can’t let this motherfucker get away with what he did to you.”

Brock nods. He knows. His hand caresses Jack’s clean-shaven cheek and he nuzzles it.

“He’s gotta pay, yes? He took everything from you. He took _me_ away from you. You gotta avenge me, Brock.”

Brock’s eyes sting and he closes them. He’d cry if he still had tears to spare. He feels a brush of lips on his forehead.

“I know you can’t wait to join me. Soon, baby. Real soon.”

He doesn’t need to open his eyes to know the hallucination is gone. It’ll be back again, to force him off the mattress in the morning.


End file.
